The Melancholy of a Rockstar Rookie
by Secretly a Duck
Summary: Jack lives in manufactured glamour and artificial lights that ceaselessly blinds him in loneliness. Elsa is forsaken with impaired hearing she savvies as a gift that brings her closer to her sister. He masks his anxieties with arrogance, her with ignorance. Yet fate has a funny way of letting them cross paths, but isn't always giving. Jelsa!Modern AU/One-shot. Dedications inside.


**hello, lovely reader. gah, alright, here goes my pretty long author's note that i assume pretty much of you won't read but hey. first of, i wrote this fic over two months ago, if my racked brain serves me right. this story has been in my head for a long time, though never found the time or right inspiration to write it all down. and it took me countless times to proofread this myself, lots of changing, adding, yet i'm still not pleased but... i tried. this is for the people in the jelsa fandom that has meant so much to me, longer notes at the end of this fic. **

**for warnings i think drinking and other stuff but nothing explicit. also proofread by the amazing EveBelle18! now, enjoy your read!**

* * *

><p><em>August 24, 14 – 9:31pm<em>

"Jack? JACK! Are you even listening? I am putting my foot down this time come down here and we still have to record—"

He tapped the dismiss button on his phone.

He doesn't give a fuck.

After all, the roaring sound systems in the club made it hard for him to muster out with whatever Pitch was telling him. People dancing with sticky musky skins on the dance floor, the floor pounding beneath his shoes and the stale taste of beer in his mouth as well as the cheap lipstick whoever he was making out in the couch was smeared across his jaw. If he were given a mirror, he'd freak out once he saw _thee_ Jack Frost himself looks like an enslaved lab rat in a mad scientists laboratory, hair sticking in all directions and the dark bags that weighed down his face really wouldn't fail to scare anyone on Halloween.

But he's Jack Frost.

So called philanthropist, top chart hitting artist, badass actor, most showered person in fame in Hollywood.

Who wouldn't know him?

The girls that he met by the bar he was first talking to about the lovely weather, quickly escalated into an intense make out session in the darker corners by the couches in the club. They were starting to get all giddy and handsy on him, two blondes on either side of him, electric blue painted fingernails running up and down his chest.

But the little monk that pounded the back of his head like a cheap gong made his forehead throb. He could feel his veins pulsing, sight a blur with all the people dancing to whatever the DJ played—guessing almost all of his songs in his new hit album The Guardians have been on repeat on the playlist. He kind of grew sick of it. It was only a cacophony of absurd noises to his poor ears now.

He didn't even notice that the blonde with long legs in stiletto red heels was moving in for another kiss, putting pressure on his chest as she pressed her hands against him once more. It's like she wanted to jump on his lap in anticipation for his lips.

His head says no but his body says yes.

Puckering his lips that stung with alcohol, eyes fluttering close, breath heavy as he readied himself for another round of kissing makes his heart leap and—

A bottle of beer hit the back of his head.

But it wasn't hard enough to break in contact or give him a concussion. He saw stars for a second, before yelling a slurred _hey_ and wincing in pain, he jerked his head as his eyes shot a sharp glare at whoever dared hit him with a stinking beer bottle.

It was Hiccup.

In his clean geeky Pokémon shirt without big round glasses that usually hung on the tip of his freckled nose. Jack guessed he was wearing contacts in the party instead to woo some girls (which he was failing miserably at), and to look rather human for once in his life.

All his thoughts of suing the scoundrel who hit him went down the drain. Relaxing a bit, his throat rumbled a sigh.

"Oh, it's just you," he rolled his eyes back to the now dumbfounded blonde next to him. "What do you want?"

"Tooth called 14 times and North left my phone with 87 messages asking for you. I think you should go."

He likes Hiccup a lot. He really does. He's a good friend. He's the type of nerd that wouldn't leave you behind even if you turn out to be this big star in Hollywood, loyally hanging around to help Jack on his math assignments. Even though after he does do Jack's homework and asks to hang out like the good old days of their childhood, Jack just brushes him off. Knowing he'd live to see the next day with his phone buzzing with an incoming call from Hiccup.

Jack was lucky enough to get away from Pitch's clutches but seeing Hiccup whine and nag at him to run back to the recording studio made something in his blood boil. He jumped out of his seat in wobbling knees, head clouded with tension and raw beer.

He grabbed Hiccup's collar. "What?!" hiccups, "_You_ can't make me go back there! Do you know that Pitch has been forcing me to record 24/7? I need to let loose a little, now fuck off."

"Well, you are an international star now. Of course you're suspected to do _even_ _better_, Jack. And isn't this all _your_ fault, too? You've been running away from you duties for too long and the fans are starting to beg for more but because of you being a big baby about not having any _fun_ recently is getting out of hand. And no, I will not fuck off. I'm on Pitch's side this time, Jack," Hiccup snarled back, grabbing Jack's wrists and shoving him off his face, much to his friends surprise.

He stumbled back a bit, losing his footing and crashing by the tables that served sparkling punch and sliced hot dogs. Before he knew it, he was soaked in grape juice and a whole tomato from the salad somehow found its way to roll into his shoes. There was a thin moment of silence quickly erupting into laughter from the crowd at the sight of the so-called big time rockstar now sprawled at the floor.

The laughter rings through his ears like gunfire, burning a sensation in the pit of his stomach. The wave of blush of gushing embarrassment spreads through his cheeks like wild fire, eyes squinted at the crowd that shifted into evil laughing silhouettes evident that he had gotten too much of beer for one night. His mind playing tricks on him. He tries to shake the embarrassment off, but he staggers as he gets up, knees failing him, crashing unto the blonde he was making out with earlier who actually got up to help him to his feet, and finally, after a spiraling headache, his stomach churns and his throat is burning with the sensation of the breadsticks he ate earlier. All thrown up in little bits and chunks with a mix of green unto the blonde's red shirt that he didn't even bother to get her name earlier.

She howled like a banshee on Halloween night before yelling words of disgust at him. And just like that, she's gone.

His mind is fickle, sight still a blur, but he's very much aware that people huddling around him have now fished out their phones to take photos, worse, _videos_ of thee Jack Frost throwing up on some random girl he's met in a bar. He felt worse than he did before.

People looming over him, his eyes spotted Hiccup in the crowd. Hands out in a gesture of help, a look of sympathy on his face.

He looks up to see all of this, a part of him thankful that his friend had stayed with him without even looking at him with disgust. And at the same time, hate. After all, it was _his_ fault that he got a whiplash of laughter from a comedic drama scene they've played out for the crowd, right?

He swats his hand away before bolting with wobbly legs, squeezing himself into the crowd before running away from them as fast as he could.

Running away from embarrassment.

Running away from the nosy reporters that were sure to mock him with questions first thing in the morning.

Running away from obnoxious fans who never saw him as human.

Running away from Pitch.

From his responsibilities.

And just, simply, the world.

* * *

><p><em>August 24, 2014 – 11:01pm<em>

Jack collapsed against the wall, breathing heavily as his breath came ragged. He seizes a hand up to his chest, trying to catch his breath, feeling the leftovers of his dinner pooling in his stomach, ready to churn and brace up for another round of throwing up in the middle of nowhere.

His eyes flick around the place, vision still a blur proving worthless in the dark room. He absolutely has no idea where he is at all. He ran away as far as he could from the bluffing bar and zinging into this very random building he ran into, his legs felt so numb he could barely feel them and his hands were at his sides bobbing like jelly each time he'd take an exasperated breath. Finally, after what seemed like five, six, minutes, his vision takes focus.

He takes notice of the shelves stacked like dominoes, fearing that if he tipped one over, it'd cause a domino effect that'd lead him to his doom. There was a large table at the center, a few beanie bags recklessly tossed around the mat, and a counter by the door. It takes a few more moments for his wasted brain to register that he is in fact in some cheap looking library.

Just before he could get up and leave and find better sanctuary in a hopeful café or shop, the sound of light footsteps shoots him frozen in his spot.

His head bobbed to the direction just in time to see the intruder emerge from the dark.

A woman with platinum blonde hair in a haphazardly tied side braid reveals her self in the dusk. Like a spotlight hits her just in time before her big part in some concert he's seen before. Her teal eyes roots him to his spot behind too big nerd glasses that suited her eyes, her button nose scrunching up at him, and thin magenta lips quirking up at his direction as a collection of three—four books were looped in her arms. Behind cheap perfume and tattered jeans, Jack found her undeniably beautiful. He'd happily woo her, like the girls back at the bar, but the harsh words that spills from her mouth tugs a frown on his lips.

"Who are you?!" she asks questioningly, a quizzical look plastered on her face. Eyes flicking up and down on him, like he was getting frisked at an airport tight with security.

He puts a hand on his chest, as if hurt.

"Goodness, never thought someone would still be oblivious of my existence," he said menacingly, in a tease. Still, he really was partly surprised. Most of the women he's met would scream at his ear for being incredibly amazing that he already knows by heart that he is and get his hand shook vigorously that he'd doubt that his soul has escaped him after a hand squeezing more painful he'd receive from a mere fan he could mistake as a pro wrestler.

She squints her eyes at him. A bad sign. "You still haven't answered my question. Who are you and what are you doing here?" She cocks her hip at him, planting a dainty hand over her hip. She sighs. "If you're here to borrow something, do it tomorrow. The library is closed. Nothing to see here."

He would've shot a snarky comment, but his headache prevents him from doing what he intended to.  
>"Where am I?" he asks, though he knew exactly where he was.<p>

One thin eyebrow shoots up. "In a _library_. Haven't I made myself clear before? But if you want more specifics you're in the Old Times Library, Wallstreet. The one sandwiched between Starbucks and a dental clinic, if you're not that familiar around here. And if you don't mind me asking, are you…" her eyes study him incredulously more than before. "Drunk?"

"No," he blurts almost immediately. He jumps to his feet, trying to prove that she's wrong, and yet again, his knees fail him and wobbles, collapsing on top of her. Body weighing her down, her eyes grow wide and immediately pushes him away. He flops back on the ground. "Okay, maybe just a little bit."

"I have no idea who you are or where you've been, but I'm sorry I can't help you. Make your exit to the right and you're good to go. Besides, I'm positively sure you don't want to hang out in a library until you're sober," she shakes her head at him, cheeks a bit crimson after their sudden contact.

"You've seriously never heard of me?"

She stares at him long, and soon shakes her head no.

"Jack. Jack Frost. Rockstar overnight? Roving actor? Highest grossing artist? Has the fanbase of grains in the sand in the whole wide world?"

"Hm," she rubs her chin with one hand, looking peculiarly smart as she did. Like she was trying to remember a hard question in a big test. "No. But it seems to me this Jack Frost guy is some obnoxious, arrogant rockstar just because he has a lot of fan girls."

"Ha-ha," he sticks his tongue out in mock anger as he scoffed. Again, she shakes her head at him before turning on her heels to leave him in the middle of dusk. He feels the distance between them. An ocean she's flooded between their space, him on the end and she on the other. As if trying to avoid him in all ways possible.

"Just," she looks away with a hand rubbing at her throbbing temple, and he thinks that she's not a very good librarian at all. Leaving? A customer? Hanging in the middle of nowhere? And a _drunk_ customer at that. He feels the familiar swell of anger bought by the beer that had erupted in his chest earlier, budding all over again. And this time, not at a close friend. But over a complete stranger. "_Leave_."

It's there. The ocean. Wide, vast, great with waves that toss at each other swaying without the slightest ease as a storm looms over it, provoking it to crash into one another. It's scary.

But he crosses it.

"_Hey_!" he snapped drunkenly at her, shooting up to stand as he makes a grab for her elbow, fingers digging into her skin. She winced as she got jerked back to face him, her expression mildly showing horror in her eyes. A small part of his senses catch the falling of books at their feet, but he can't seem to bring himself to care. "You can't make me go back out there again! Not when there are roaming cameramen wanting to take more stills of me than they already have, not when rabid fangirls are stalking me wherever I go, not when Pitch is shoving me into a fake love interest for the press, not when the one thing I actually _love_ is slowly slipping away from my grasps!" he chokes on his last words.

It's funny, because he never really confessed all the burdens he's been carrying ever since his debut to anyone. Not Eugene, his make-up artist, not to Rapunzel, the hit actress Pitch has been forcing him to go out with for so long, and not even Hiccup, the only real friend he's had all the time. All his anger spills to this librarian, in a stormy night, alone in a lonely library.

Her features are frozen with bewilderment as he continues to shake her bony shoulders, and he fears he will cry and come undone in front of her. Like the weakling that he is.

Finally, her face breaks from its frozen stupor, and she yanks herself away from him, bringing a hand up to the shoulder he'd dug his fingers into and begins to trace the marks he's left red on her sensitive skin. But she doesn't say anything after this, and there is a deafening silence left between them.

He drops to the ground, still fighting back tears.

He feels her stare shoot daggers into him, and he thinks that maybe she's already fished out her phone to take a video of this rare moment that Jack Frost is crying like a wuss while he's drunk. Maybe she'll even upload it on Youtube and name the video '_Jack Frost cries like a wuss lmao'_ and there would be reuploads like '_OMG! Jack Frost is such a wimp'_ or _'Big Star secretly a big turd_. And he doesn't care. He doesn't care if she shares this moment of vulnerability to the world, if she decides to make a fortune of him, because they're all the same. All of them.

The light touch of her hand leaves him rooted to his seat on the floor, head shooting up with eyes wide as saucers to see not a face with a huge smile, or a laughing burst, or a camera in his face, but a smile of sympathy and understanding. His heart stops a beat.

"It's okay," she smiles, forehead folding up at him. Hand beginning to stroke his limp shoulder, warming up and down his arm. "I don't really understand much about stardom, or cocky artists," he swore he heard a 'like you' after her last statement, but his wasted mind couldn't completely wrap around that sudden whisper part of her sentence. "But if it makes you feel any better, you can come by around here, if you want."

His eyebrows shoot up.

She sees suspicion circling the blue of his eyes, and immediately follows up, "You know," she clears her throat, a blush creeping its way up her neck. Cute. "This place is pretty much deserted, not much really care about borrowing books from libraries today because of the magic of the internet," she rolls her eyes with her discussion. "But there are a few old ladies who come by Sundays for book clubs, and I doubt they'll even know you so I guess it'll be fine."

"I'm a star, remember?"

"Don't worry, I'm sure they'd gladly talk about Elvis Presley's 25th concert suit than look at your tattered clothing that's 'out of _hip'_ for the aged," he actually chuckles this time, and it rewards her with a small smile. "What I mean is that, if you want a place to unwind, maybe after a concert or a scripted shooting, you're more than welcome to come by here. You can grab a book and read, or maybe just hang around a place that's not swamped with cameras. And don't worry I don't sell stories to the press. I would rather work my butt off here than get bombarded with questions I have no absolute answers for."

He smiles, finally. Genuine and golden. Not like the smiles he wears when he walks through the red carpet, or the smiles he plasters on when he's forced to loop his arms around some big Hollywood actresses waist, or the smile he puts on when he tries to mask the pain that screams that he wants to get away from it all, the stress, the rules, and the bounds that bind him in the law of the world of Stardom.

His smile this time is lopsided, and it makes him look like a teen boy that's watching a loved one idly without their knowing. It makes him look boyish and a bit stupid, but she likes it. She likes his smile, she notes herself.

"And a friend," he said as he refuses to break contact with her teal eyes. "I'll need a friend."

He sees the hesitation in the way she suddenly tenses, but masks her frustration with relaxation. "Yeah, sure. A friend."

They stay like that for the longest moment, nothing but the sound of their breathing hanging in the night and eyes catching one another every now and then, trying to look anywhere, everywhere except making actual contact. But they still do behind both of their obvious chagrin. Finally, he notices the books that have pooled beneath her feet, and begins to reach out for them, one by one.

"Sorry," he mutters mid-way, one hand already occupied with stacks of books. She makes a grab for the books too.

She nods okay, formally after a beat. Eyes fixed at the mess at their feet. Long finger, cold in the dark trembling as she collects them in her arms.

Suddenly, he sees a foreign figure on the plush carpet of the library. It's round, shiny, and worn looking even in the dim of the night and the stretch away from him. He stretches his arms out with curiosity as he wanders if it really is what he thinks it is—but she beats him to it.

She immediately curls her fingers around it, snatching it from the ground, he sees her knuckles go white as she did so, and for a scant second she presses it protectively over her chest before finally placing it in the crown of her ear.

Of course. Now he understands.

Well, maybe.

"Are you…?" he asks inquisitively, wishing it wasn't true. It can't be. Not when someone as pure and angelic like her could be crestfallen with the burden of being—

"Yes," her face drops and she looks up to meet his eyes, guiltily. "I am."

She's deaf.

Partly, he guesses. And now he is suddenly bursting with questions he's meaning to ask to this girl he barely even knows.

"Then how can you—"

"It's not that bad," she admits, adjusting the mechanism to her ears, hooked at the curve of her ear. "It's only partial, not like how society plays it out like we're some dumb deaf and mute who always has to use sign language to communicate all the time. It varies for people, and it's different for me," she nodded to herself at the last thought, idly tracing the surface of the books in her hand.

He feels like an invader for asking, but he just had to. "Then how did you…?"

"Childhood incident," she shoots him a nasty glare when his jaw slacks and begins to form another question, and he immediately shuts his mouth. "As you've guessed, I wear a hearing aid not because I'm _completely_ deaf… I can still hear without it, you know. But just harder. It's like hearing birds chirp at one another from a distance, but this thingamabob amplifies sound when I wear it. So I guess I still need it. It's my lifeline."

She moves her hands up to touch it, and he sees her features soften at the thought, and he sees the memory wash over her face.

He smiles softly, almost sorry, not until her head snaps back up at him. "So, when are you going to leave?"

His face drops. "Wow, rude."

She laughs a little, and they fall into silence again. And he wonders about her, and how she ended up with such a state. If she's ever cursed the gods for leaving her crestfallen like this, how her friends treat her, how her family was able to overcome her incapability of some sort. And for once, he finds himself not thinking about wooing the crowd, or bothered by new projects, or think about him himself. For once, he cares about someone else. Someone he barely even knows.

After he watches her fidget with her fingers, crease and constantly steal glances up him, she speaks again. "Seriously, when though? No offense but I still have to pick my sister up."

He laughs, finally. "Fine."

* * *

><p><em>August 31, 2014 – 9:34am<em>

Sunday morning, it's barely opening time but he's already waiting for her at the entrance. One eyebrow shoots up at him, incredulous and questioning.

"How on earth are you—"

"Sunday, free, bored," he grinned at her, hands bunched in his jacket, hoodie pulled over his face to somehow fit in with the crowd, hoping not to get anyone's attention. "Plus, I drew a map last time to get me here, so t'was pretty easy to get around."

"Smart boy," she nodded, a hint of sarcasm in her voice before moving past him to jam the key into the lock and opening the library doors, the aroma of ancient books and stale air conditioning greeting them.

Moving briskly, she does her daily routine; register, drop her purse and Starbucks coffee at the counter, get the computers up and running, warm the air conditioning in the room, and text Anna she's arrived safely at work. She usually does it so naturally, like a robot programmed to do its daily duties, some times even humming a tune to herself, but now she's stiff as she moves around, feeling his gaze sink into her and it bothers her a lot how he just stands there, watching her do her job. She tries to push the awkward feeling away, as well as the vague sense of a blush warming her cheeks.

"Make your self at home," she said from a distance, making the room come to life as she flicks the fluorescent lights and dull ones on, giving the place a sense of being. He shrugs, before plopping down on one of the beanie bags.

It hits her that she's alone—with no one else than the big time rockstar that's full of himself. She's never been alone with a boy, let alone a rockstar. She makes a mental note that if he does anything funny, she'll use the popular technique she read in one of those handy self-defense handbooks she reads on the bus whenever she got bored with old Classics she grew to love: She'd sack him in the balls. But that was for later, if he dares do something stupid, of course.

Once everything was set, settled, and just before she could round herself at the counter to wait for the old women's book club—he speaks up.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asks, maybe just to break the deafening silence.

She doesn't hear him at first, and he has to repeat himself only now with a _hey_. "Oh, uh, sorry, what?"

"What am I supposed to do now?" he whined, sinking into the cushion.

"I don't know," she frowns at him from the counter, phone in hand. There was something irritating about how he said it, as if it wasn't obvious enough. She rolled her eyes. "Read?"

"This place is too quiet, needs more rock n' roll."

"Go down Seventy-Seven's street, they got a line of guitar shops. Or maybe read a book by some old rockstar, maybe you'll like that. Or you could leave."

"No, no, and no, I like it here. It's peaceful."

"You said it needs more rock n' roll. I guess books don't reach you standards, huh?"

"Wait, okay, I take that one back. But yeah, books aren't exactly my favorite but I guess I could grow to love 'em. And you're pretty rock n' roll yourself, so you, talk to me," he smirked, leaning to rest his chin on one fist on top of his knees, looking amused. "You like books?"

Elsa wanted nothing more than to finish texting Anna that she's made it to work, without trying to mention the cocky yet oddly suave rockstar she's in the room with. She sighed, reverting his attention back to him.

"Love, actually. And hey yourself your finger is swelling and it looks like a rotten tomato, to be honest."

"Oh," he notices, glancing down his discoloring index finger. "I actually got here pretty early… and when I got bored I kind of just stuffed my finger in the lock out of boredom and it got stuck, so, yeah," he laughed, thinking it was really pathetic for him to do something like that. "…damn, it's gonna be hard to play the guitar."

"You play?"

"Of course I do, I'm a star. It's like the basics into getting into stardom, you know."

Elsa looks up at him innocently, lashes batting up at him. And Jack could tell he's caught her interest and it takes him a minute to register that she's waiting for him to say more, like an adorable puppy waiting for her treat. He smiles.

"Why? You like guitars?"

She hesitates. "Maybe…"

"I can teach you."

"No, I can't pay you. I even have to work double to buy clothes, I can't afford to have guitar lessons… especially from, um, a 'star'." She air quotes the word _star_, and he laughs again. "And I don't think I have time for that, either."

"Well," he smirks. "Tell you what, help me 'grow to love books''—he air quotes back, and she chuckles. "And I can grab my guitar back at home, and I'll teach you for free. It's your lucky day, snowflake, you're about to get guitar lessons from a star."

"A _cocky_ star," she adds.

He laughs, shaking his head and nods. "Alright, thanks a lot, princess."

* * *

><p><em>September 07, 2014 – 11:12am<em>

"You sure this book is good?" Jack eyed the ancient book in hand, skeptical and doubting. Elsa's first recommendation above all was (enter book name here), which he found kind of weird. She laughed, finding his look funny, and her laughter washes the look off his face.

"Of course, you're talking to the girl who spent half her life reading and reviewing books, wrote over a hundred page essay about countless classics, and runs a book blog. How can you not trust me?"

"Because there is literature out there called Twilight and Fifty Shades of Gray. How can I not be skeptical?"

She chortles before slapping him lightly on the arm. Last Sunday passed with the two of them exchanging stories about work or New York, everything business. He got a call from his manager around 2 in the afternoon, and he had to bid farewell earlier than he expected, reminded by the fact that he would have to bring his guitar next time. When they waved small goodbyes, Elsa felt a little empty, maybe even disappointed, but shook the feeling away when Anna messaged her to see how she's been. She's never been close to anyone at work, except for a kind old lady that smelled like black coffee that loved to bring Elsa biscuits every Wednesday.

And now, the Sunday has come for them to start their lessons, and she knew she'd be lying if she wasn't thankful for Jack's presence leaning against the counter over her in the lonely shop—absolutely empty without the geeks roaming or the old men playing mahjong on the tables on weekdays.

"No, don't worry." She reassures, waving a hand over her face. "This is a classic, you'll love it. And shouldn't you have read this book before? Every high school kid should've read this before."

"Must've forgot, I had a personal assistant back in high school to do all my homework and project after all."

"You had to pay someone to do your homework?" her smile drops, and suddenly stone serious. He feels guilt at the pit of his stomach, thinking that she must think that he's an incoherent self-centered jerk, but he swears he's not.

"What? Oh, no," he shrugs, trying to look nonchalant about it. "I mean he was my friend, and he was always willing to do it for me, okay?" his lips tighten to a thin line.

Silence suddenly falls between them.

He didn't want to think of Hiccup, feeling like a jerk for still not talking to him and refusing to answer his calls. So he stirs himself to wear that feigned smile he flashes when the cameras hit his face before tucking the book under his arm.

"So, wanna start on your lessons?"

* * *

><p><em>September 14, 2014 – 11:17am<em>

"Darn this is harder than I thought," Elsa pouted, feeling less and less useful in the minute.

They've already made it through the basics, though her slim fingers were having a hard time working on the G chord, not well worn enough to hold it in its position.

"Here, let me help," Jack looped his arms around her smaller frame, willing her fingers do the right position. "Just keep it like that and you'll do great."

She could only nod.

* * *

><p><em>September 28, 2014 – 12:51PM<em>

A few more weeks of exchanged formal lessons, quiet visits to the library and rare stops at Starbucks across the street, Jack resigned himself to break down a few walls still towering over them.

"So, uh, tell me about you," he said, looking up from a borrowed copy of _The Phantom of the Opera_, his new task. They had bet on that if he'd finish the book within the week, she would do something a little bit more daring for a reserved wallflower like her, and he was already thinking that a date would be a good one for someone like her. His heart drummed at the thought of asking her out.

"Me?" she asked, tearing her eyes from her own book he couldn't make out the title from his seat. Its pages were torn and the edges were caked with dust, seemed old. "What about me? You already know. Elsa, college girl, breathes books, half deaf, has a little sister, what else is there to know?"

"A lot," he said, snapping the book shut and making a mental note that he'd stopped at page 42. Still a load to catch up on. "Like what's your story, real story. Favorite color, perks, favorite animal—I mean, anything that's, well, you."

She pursed her lips to think, before nodding slowly. "Hard to tell when I'm talking to someone who's needs to keep a public image clean."

He approved of this, nodding back. "Huh, you do have a point, Snowflake. Alright, I'm Jack Frost. Real name's Jackson, middle name's Overland. Told you before, I also have a sister. She loves cakes and skating, which I think is a pretty solid reason why we should get our sisters together—they'd love each other!"

She chuckled. "But mine likes chocolate."

"They can grab chocolate cake together, see?"

She laughed again and he continued. A little louder, clearer, reminding himself of her mild incapability. "Music has always been my life. Learned drums, guitar, cello, other weird instruments names never rubbed on me but I could miraculously play," she laughed again as he went on. "I have a fewer friends than you'd imagine, because I'm sure some are just sticking with me for the fame, or money which really sucks. Bestest one is a walking fishbone named Hiccup, you'll love him and his constant drops of sarcasm every now and then."

He had to think of what to say next before rapping up again. "I'm also scared of the dark, don't know why okay. Don't laugh! Childhood fear, fell into a pond and it was really dark, okay?" he had to ignore her laughter clamped in one hand, trying not to let it all out in the moment. "Okay, I think that's about it. Now, you."

Elsa had to straighten her shirt before smiling at his direction, hiding the chagrin that she didn't hear some of what he had said. "Alright then. Elizabeth "Elsa" Arendelle, firstborn of the family. Works two other jobs other than being the weekend librarian of this ancient place," she rolled her eyes around, catching light in her irises before falling back to him.

"I was eight when the freak accident happened. I was playing with my sister, Anna, out on the playground… I guess it was partly my fault, I kind of snuck us out on Christmas Eve to play outside because I knew how much she loved snow. Then, while we were sliding down the slide, extra slippery in the season, I didn't see the huge rail with a sharp end and Anna was heading directly for it and I—I just had to—" she drew a breath.

"I'm sorry," he finished for her. She reminded him of himself years ago, fear struck beneath a frozen lake. She shook her head no.

"No, it was fine. Blood was everywhere though, stained pure snow. Shame my sister had to see me like that…" her voice trailed, a somber ambiance hung by. "She hit her head, too. Though her injuries were less severe, minor than mine. A little scar on her forehead, while I carry a damaged eardrum."

Jack couldn't help but feel sorry for Elsa, watching her fidget for a moment, them being left with an awkward silence that they couldn't seem to shake off whenever they talked like this.

"I'd give you my eardrum if I could," he grinned, hopeful. She smiled.

"No, a star would need it to hear to play, right? I don't need saving."

_You do, _he thought_. I know you do._

* * *

><p><em>Unidentified date - error<em>

Elsa says being half deaf is like slowly drowning in the vast blue of the sea, sinking deeper and deeper underwater with water pounding in her ears. Jack says being lonely is like being lost even in the sea of people, no matter how many ran a discourse with him or how much attention he gets, he feels alone. They're alone.

So one quiet Sunday morning, between nothingness, they come in terms with one thing.

Their anxieties were like the sea. And they needed to survive.

Somehow.

* * *

><p><em>October 26, 2014 – 3:20PM<em>

"You're awfully quiet today," Jack frowned, eyebrows furrowing up at her as he leaned against Elsa's bony shoulder.

She doesn't look up from her book, and he has to repeat himself.

"Oh," she acknowledges him, finally, and he wills himself to believe that it just needed time for her to let his voice sink into her gnawed brain. "Sorry. I was just thinking."

"And what are you thinking about?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. Her voice was almost mute, so he had to lean in. "Stuff?"

"What kind of stuff?" he swiveled his head to look at her. They were sitting on the carpet, since no one came around 3pm at the library. They already had their schedules up, sprawled on the plush carpet, books in lap, shoulder to shoulder.

"What it'd be like to live in another dimension, like in books," he doesn't know why, but he laughs at this. "Like in HP or THG."

"You'd be a pretty badass Katniss, but you're more of a Hazel Grace to me."

"I'm not Katniss and I don't like deaths," she cracked a grin.

"But THG does. Are you kiddin' me? Don't tell me you're a masochist now."

"Not really, THG's okay. What I meant is that I don't like main character deaths, the pairings, I mean. Too tragic. That'd be too much in real life. Losing someone you love."

The room sank into silence at the blow of her words. It wasn't like that'd happen to them. Deaths, accidents, pain, that happened to other people. Not them. But she already felt what it was like, one winter night on the playground. Him in a pond. They've already faced death, and survived.

"Let's live then," he said playfully, not knowing what he was really meaning.

She forced a weak smile. "Yeah, let's."

* * *

><p><em>November 2, 2014 – 2:12PM <em>

"So, are you going to be around next week? I think we can actually play some sweet oldies with you learnin' the chords now, which is great!" Jack beamed, feeling a swell of pride for Elsa for knowing all her abc's in music.

"Did you… say next week?" she fidgeted, forcing a smile. A hint of question in her voice.

"Yeah."

"Oh."

Her face fell. His did too.

"Why, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she hesitated, sighing after. "Alright it's just that…"

He looked at her intensely, anticipating on what her ruby lips would say next.

"Can I see you? Saturday? If you're free, that is. I have something important to tell you."

"If it's so important you can spit it out now," she blushed when he said this, and it hits him that maybe she'll confess to him too, like the way he was planning all along.

"It…" her blush only deepened as she spoke, eyes starting to roll around the place. "It wouldn't be appropriate, if I said it here, you know. It's just—"

"Alright, alright," he blushed back, winking. "I think I understand."

* * *

><p><em>November 8, 2014 – 7:32PM<em>

"What the hell do you mean I can't go?!" Jack raged, his fist slamming against the concrete wall, creating a reverberating sound into the night. His breath was ragged, his vision growing blurry with anger as he stared deep into Pitch's golden slits.

"I said no this time, Jack. The band needs you, the people want you. I can't let you go running off all the time now! You have a responsibility to fulfill, Mister Jack Frost. And I'm only here to make things happen, this is for your own good believe it or not—"

"It's Saturday for Pete's sake!"

"_No_!" Pitch fueled back, a vein visibly popping on his weary forehead. "This time, I am _not_ letting you go! _You're_ the one who's been slacking off more than ever. _You're_ the one who keeps running off to nowhere. And this time, I'm making a stand. You're staying, you're going to play you're forsaken instrument out there, blow their minds off, and _do your job_."

He wanted to scream. He wanted to dig his long fingers into his hair and tug on them hard. He wanted to punch the wall until his fist bled. He wanted to run. Run to where Elsa was, waiting at 5th Avenue, hopeful she'd see him tonight amidst the cold.

But she isn't going to.

Jack stood up, straighter, before marching in front of Pitch's face to give him an angry glare. Pitch, unfazed, stared back. Clearly not backing down. Then, he immediately grabbed his guitar leaning against his desk to storm off the room and slamming the door behind him, passing by few crews and his bandmate hidden by the alias Toothiana, whom greeted him with a warm smile in the halls.

He always knew she had a little crush on him ever since the first day he got accepted for the job, but never had returned her feelings. After all, Pitch was already forcing him on one of the youngest actresses gaining fast fame today, Rapunzel, and was already ripping him away from the clutches of Elsa. He didn't want any more scandals, and never did care, so he never gave the poor multicolor haired girl the same affections.

He wanted to be back at the rusted library, him and Elsa, in their own little world.

Jack kicked the door open to leading the stage, and he was greeted with swarming fans. Without acknowledgement, he marched up the microphone, spotloght hot in his face, strummed the guitar hard making his fingers nearly bleed, sang til his throat swelled and gave the crowd what they wanted all along.

But not hers.

* * *

><p><em>November 9, 2014 – 8:02AM<em>

"Yeah, this is Jack," he confirmed, putting an icepack over his throbbing forehead. His body felt limp and his stomach growled in hunger, after all, four whole hours of a sudden concert can sure drain the life out of somebody even if he was an international rockstar. "Who is this?"

"_I… this is Anna."_

He jerked his full attention to the phone pressed against his ear.

"_Elsa Arendelle's sister?"_

"Oh, yeah. I know you! Elsa told me a lot about you," he felt himself smile.

Silence. There was suddenly silence and it makes him think he said something wrong.

"_She—she did?"_

"Yeah. Like, all the time!"

Again, she paused. He tapped his fingers to the seconds of silence that hung between the line, before he heard the most inaudible sniffle.

"Hey—You okay, bud? A-are you crying?"

He heard her blow her nose, bet on himself that she dabbed her eyes first, and cleared her throat before speaking into the phone with a croak.

"_I'm fine, thanks. And I just wanted you to know that…"_

For a brief moment, he feels the world stop, his body go numb, before he dropped his phone to the ground, running out of the room in haste.

* * *

><p><em>November 9, 2014 – 11:11AM<em>

"Elsa?"

She turned her head not to his voice but because she caught a glimpse of him in the corner of her eyes. She stayed rooted on the hospital bed, fingers twisted on her lap as she straightened her back. The side of her once good ear was strapped with bandages with the faintest color of blood red coming into light. She smiled weakly at him.

Jack's knees failed him. He collapsed to the floor, arms limp on his sides as his heart took the blow of realization that he was too late—

His head raced with his heart with countless emotions of morose anger, pity, weakness all packed in one that started to coil in his gut as his shaking fingers moved up to his heaving chest, swelling face, and when trembling fingers found the roots of his hair, he tugged on it. _Hard_. As if he was losing his mind as he couldn't bring himself to accept.

He crawled fast to her, face twisted in horror and grimace. Trembling, he grabbed her stone cold hands.

"Elsa?" he asked again, his voice cracking this time. Her face stilled blank, eyes the same blue he had first saw the first time they met. "Please—please don't tell me it's true."

Without a word or a gesture, all she did was dare look into his eyes. Sadness swirling in the depths of it.

Jack, torn, grabbed her shoulders and shook her to make her answer him.

"No, no, no, no…." he muttered over and over, tears finding its way to collect under his eyes. "Please, don't tell me it's true. Say something, anything."

Anna's distant sobs into her boyfriend's chest, Kristoff, at the door proved that it was all in fact true, and how he badly wanted to snap out of reality and the burden of it all.

"…but I love you."

His lips trembled as he spilled the words. Same blue eyes meeting her blank ones, his heart that's jumped to his throat with a wild beat she would never get to hear.

"I was going to tell you that I love you," he bit his lip, shaking his head. A tear streamed down his face, one after another. Like rain, only silent in her world. "I love you."

She remained still. He was losing his mind. Finally, he pressed his face to her lap, trembling, convulsing, failing as he kept repeating the words into her skin.

"I love you, I love you, _I love you_…"

Slowly she closed her eyes, imagining him telling her the words and what kind of music it would've been to hear him say it to her and her alone. It was better than the music played on her MP3, better than his strained voice that he forces out on his concerts, it was symphony in the chaos out on the clattering streets of New York, calmer than the silence back in the forlorn library, exploding like nebula lost somewhere in the depths of oblivion.

It was beautiful.

But she couldn't hear him.

* * *

><p><strong>so, the question: 'what the hell happened to elsa?!' must be gnawing in your brain right now. as much as i'd love to explain it, i'd rather write a sequel for you guys to understand. but the thing is, this fic is only going to be a two-shot if it gets positive feedback. so, bomb me away with your favoritesfollows/reviews, it all means so much!**

**this fic is for the people in this fandom that means so much to me, for pulling me into this fandom and never failed to inspire me and keep me going. to:**

**queenofarrows - andrea, you have no idea how much of a friend you mean to me. even though i've converted you into an anime lover and a bro, you're still my compadre in the jelsa fandom and you never fail to make me feel good about my writing no matter how crappy i see it.**

**VenusKnight - you were the first person to approach me in the fandom, and you always inspire me to pursue my writing no matter what. thank you for being there for me and making me deeply love this fandom even more.**

**InsaniumArtisan - darling, your reviews are just gold. thank you for supporting me in all my stories, it means the world to me.**

**EveBelle18 - my dear amazing beta, you're seriously the best. you're always there for me when i need you, and it means so much to have someone to lean on. you have no idea how grateful i am to have you as a friend.**

**To my readers of The Winter Thief - seriously guys, THANK YOU. you have no idea how much of a milestone i leapt writing twt, i feel that there was progress in my writing, not only do i believe in the story development, but i felt that i grew in writing, too. though twt didn't actually go quite as i expected it, got cliche or oc at times, you, my dear readers were always there for me no matter what. always, even if it some times takes me forever to update. i am more than determined to finish writing twt, and hopefully when i do, you guys will still stick with me on my journey as i continue to write new stories. you guys are the best.**

**To new readers - you're probably not reading this lengthy a/n, but hi! thanks for taking the time to read this. hopefully you liked this one-shot, and you just continue on being awesome.**

**also, i have nothing against twilight or fifty shades of gray. just used it as ref in the fic, i'm not saying it's bad literature, to those who are fans of it, please don't take the words in this fic by heart. thank you for understanding.**

**well, over all, thank you everyone. my heart sings with joy and relief fills me that i finally got this story out, though i'm still not so satisfied with the flaws in my writing but hey. favorites/follows/reviews are most appreciated, see you in the next fic. **

**(this a/n is so long is this even plausible ;A;)**


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